


Ever Since You Came Around

by publictransit



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, fist bump of eternal devotion, generally less intense than i expected this to be, it's a party kent can cry if he wants to, pretty much 8k of solid fluff, splash of angst to keep it real tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9043736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/publictransit/pseuds/publictransit
Summary: The worst part is, it’s a clean hit.ORAlexei slides Kent’s ring back onto his finger, and Kent smiles, and Alexei smiles back, and it didn’t take much more than that for Kent to fall in love in the first place.ORKent and Alexei fall in love, get married, and come out. It's not quite that simple, but it sounds nice that way, doesn't it?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freefall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freefall/gifts).



> For freefall, who requested a "arranged marriage au: either a regency au, royalty au, or in a canon-ish verse for hockey/visa reasons," which I found to be super challenging and fun, two of my favourite things. This comes in (for me, time zones are weird) at about 11pm on the 24th of December, so I am making my deadline, but barely-- here's to hoping it was worth the wait! 
> 
> TOTALLY UNBETA'D I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE.

The worst part is, it’s a clean hit. 

That’s not the worst part— the worst part is that the doctors have already told Kent with a reasonable amount of confidence that Alexei is not going to be able to play professional hockey again. The worst part is that Kent hasn’t slept in thirty six hours and had to argue with the nurse at the front desk about whether he was allowed to be here, even though he’s clearly listed as the emergency contact for Alexei Mashkov (he rants about the fact that Alexei’s whole family lives in Russia, because he is Russian, and rants a bit in sloppy, utilitarian Russian, mostly hockey terminology, just to prove a point, before they seem to accept that he is the man they should be speaking to about Alexei’s condition). The worst part is the waiting room of the hospital looks exactly like every other fucking hospital waiting room and Kent’s hands haven’t stopped shaking since he got the call. The worst part is probably that Alexei is in pain.

The beast of a winger that the Seattle Schooners seem to be paying exclusively to knock over anyone who tries to touch their first round draft pick from last year did his job tonight. The dude was apologetic— apparently he was at the hospital for a couple hours himself, before it became clear that Alexei’s mangled knee was going to need more attention in surgery than they originally thought, and the Seattle team had a curfew, after all.

But Kent has been sitting in the waiting room for (what feels like his whole life, now, returning to this moment, over and over) almost four hours when a nurse finally comes to get him and bring him back to where Alexei is recovering. 

When Alexei sees Kent, he offers him a sad little smile and waves him over (and yeah, the relief that crashes down over him in the moment that Alexei opens his arms for him is almost too much to handle, so crying about it a little bit is totally acceptable, fuck you). Kent buries his face as best as he can in Alexei’s chest, stooping over a little awkwardly, glad for the first time that his injury is lower body. It means Kent can get his arms around him, at least. 

“Kenny,” Alexei sounds a little muffled, his accent thicker than usual. He’s still a little out of it from surgery and speaking directly into Kent’s hair. “Why you are in New York?” 

“Because you’re here, dummy.” 

“Not having game?”

“Not anymore, babe,” Kent tells him. He’d asked to be scratched for their game tomorrow night, and after taking a discerning, three second look at Kent, the head coach had decided that he was going to be useless if he did play and agreed. After that, they were going into a three day break. The flight from Vegas to New York was four and half hours, and the cab to the hospital had been thirty four minutes, and the time spent in the waiting room all added up to the time that the doctors had needed to decide and inform Alexei that he was probably never going to be able to play professional hockey again. A career ending injury, the surgeon had told Kent in the waiting room. 

“You are skipping game for me? Romantic,” Alexei says, with a smirk that is more drowsy than salacious. 

Kent moves from his half-sprawled, half-standing position to drag over a nearby chair and more or less fall into it, never releasing the hand that Alexei doesn’t have an IV in. 

“I’m finish with hockey,” Alexei says, after they go about as long as they can without talking about it, looking up at the ceiling tiles. “Will have to go home, visa will expire.” 

Shit. 

That’s right. 

Alexei was in the midst of negotiating another five years with the Falconers, the contract that would carry him to his late thirties and planned retirement. Because his contract ends this season. Dread settles over Kent like a blanket, cold and heavy. His shoulders begin to shake. 

“What? Alexei, you can’t—”

“I know, Kent. I’m having many reasons to stay,” Alexei looks at him now, and he looks upset, really upset for the first time since this all happened. “None that American government will think is enough.” Kent hates hospitals. It’s the only place he’s ever been speechless. “I go home, come back? Apply in years time, for citizenship? I am working here so long, they must say yes.” Alexei offers him a watery smile and tangles their fingers together. 

“You can’t—” Kent stops. He almost said, you can’t leave me. Alexei hears it anyways. 

“What am I saying? They can’t kick me about because boyfriend does not want me to leave?” 

“Husband,” Kent says, very very quietly. 

“What—”

“Will you marry me?” Alexei stares. His watery expression does not change. “I know that this might be weird, and we’ve only been actually dating for like, four months? But you could stay here, with me, and stop worrying about going anywhere you don’t want to be, I’m—” Kent interrupts himself to take a shuddering breath. “Will you marry me?” Alexei blinks hard a few times. 

“Is closer to five months, now," he corrects. 

“It is, isn’t it.” Five months on opposite sides of the country, on different schedules that took them across the continent every other week.

“I am not wanting to marry you,” Alexei says, and he keeps talking over the sound of Kent’s heart shattering like the stained glass windows in an old church during a violent earthquake. “Not like this.” 

“What do you mean not like this?”

“You feeling… you need to.” 

“Alexei, this isn’t some kind of fucked up obligation thing, I,” Kent stutters to a stop. “I want this. I didn’t think it was going to be this soon, or for this reason but… I’ve thought about it. I want this. I thought, like, maybe in a few months, I’d bring it up for the first time, a few months after that, I’d actually ask, I don’t know.” 

“Kent—” 

“I don’t want you to go back to Russia,” he says, instead of _don’t leave me_. “I want you to marry me,” he says, instead of _I love you_. “We can get you your green card and figure it out from there,” he says, like he isn’t going to be totally fucking destroyed when this marriage inevitably ruins their pretty recent relationship and Alexei divorces him after a year.

Alexei blinks at him, then squeezes his hand. 

“I am not wanting to go back to Russia either,” he finally says. “I’m thinking I would like to be married to you very much, Kent Parson.” 

“Okay,” Kent says. “Okay.”

—

Kent doesn’t tell his sister why he wants her to meet him in the city on a perfectly random Tuesday in October, which is probably why she thinks it’s okay to cancel about two hours beforehand with a half-hearted apology about the washing machine in her building flooding the apartments. 

He doesn't even try to call his mom. She’s probably busy (and she’d definitely be angry that he hadn’t told her about his nearly six month long relationship that brought him to the east coast whenever he could find the time but not quite far enough to visit her, so, angry. Almost as angry, he thinks, as she’ll be to find out that he got married without telling her first, but). 

All of his friends live in Las Vegas, which is typically the perfect place for a shotgun wedding, but Alexei can’t stand, much less walk, much less get to the airport, and the doctors probably won’t take Emergency Visa-Related Gay Marriage as an excuse to risk the future of Alexei’s already battered and precocious knee. 

But, miracle of miracles, Eric Bittle shows up with a pie about fifteen minutes before they are planning to start the ceremony and make this all official. 

“Hope you like cherry,” Bittle says, holding a very economic looking sealed dish and almost managing a smile that isn’t a grimace. Here, in the lobby of a hospital in the city Kent grew up in, Kent does not manage a smile that isn’t a grimace. He gives Eric Bittle a grimace. Him and Bittle weren’t really friends and they probably never would be, but they were something that wasn’t mutual seething pettiness anymore, so that was good. It was all good. Talking to Jack meant that Kent was no longer trying to accommodate what felt like a raw, gaping wound at the base of his spine, and talking to Jack meant talking to Bittle, and that was nothing more or less than fine.

“Will you be a witness to my marriage?” Kent says, instead of anything socially acceptable in terms of their relationship or location.

“What?” Bittle asks, and that is a totally valid question. 

“Shit—” Kent replies, keeping with his new trend of terrible communication (maybe it’s a not-so-new trend, but whatever). “Alexei and I are getting married in like, twenty minutes, and my sister can’t make it anymore because her washing machine broke.” Bittle pins him with an incredulous stare that makes Kent keep talking, for some reason. “I mean, she wouldn’t have cancelled if I had actually told her I was getting married, but I didn’t, because this is like, super last minute, and I’ve been putting off introducing her to Alexei at all because I’m scared of what her and my mom will say when they do meet him. Not that I think they’d have any reason to have bad stuff to say? I’m just afraid, I guess? I’m… shit.” 

“Kent,” Bittle speaks slowly, as if Kent might struggle to comprehend him if he spoke too fast, or maybe like he’s making up for how fast Kent is talking by doing the opposite, or maybe that’s just the effect his accent has on his vowels, Kent has only really had two conversations with this guy in his whole life— “You and Alexei are getting married? Here? In the hospital? Today?” 

“We have sixty days to complete the ceremony, according to the state of New York.” They had applied online yesterday. “But I have to fly back to Vegas tonight.” 

Bittle blinks. 

Convincing the doctors to let Kent take Alexei out of the hospital and to the City Clerk's office that morning had taken almost one entire hour of begging, bartering, pointing out that Alexei had been perfectly stable since his surgery four days before, pointing out that Kent had to leave very the next day, and the intervention of a middle aged nurse named Joanne who agreed to accompany them when she was off-shift the following morning, just in case. (Joanne didn’t know this yet, but Kent was going to pay for all three of her kids to get undergraduate degrees as a thank you, because Joanne deserved it.)

They were the first ones in at the City Clerk’s office, with baseball caps pulled low over their eyes, Kent pushing Alexei in a crappy hospital wheelchair and both of them dressed in their finest sweatpants. 

(They had laughed a lot, shared a few giddy, mid-sentence kisses, and decided to hyphenate. Parson-Mashkov. Like this wasn't fucked. Kent loved every second of it. Joanne told them in a very flat voice that they were holding up the line, and that they were disgustingly adorable. It was good, so good, and Kent let himself believe that this wasn’t all happening because they had no better choice for a few minutes.)

“Kent, do you mean to tell me that you got married this morning without telling anybody?”

“Not technically? In like fifteen minutes after we have our ceremony, then yeah,” Kent pops his lips. “Kent Parson-Mashkov.”

Bittle doesn’t say anything, his mouth hanging open in a pretty little O. 

“Look,” Kent says. “I’m freaking out, and I’ve been freaking out for like, four and a half days, but right now, I need to go get married, and I know that you don’t like, give a shit particularly about me, but it would mean a lot to me to have someone here for this that I at least know, I guess.” He’s mumbling by the end of it, but Bittle’s face softens a little. 

“Of course I’ll come with you, Kent,” he says. “But don’t think this saves you from telling Jack.” 

“What?” 

“Two of his closest friends are getting married today and he wasn’t invited,” Bittle says with a smirk, landing a shockingly sturdy hip check as he walks past Kent. “Now, hurry yourself up Mr. Parson-Mashkov, we can't have you late for your own ceremony.” 

“Shit, right,” Kent stumbles after Bittle, who effectively floats to the elevator, pie still in hand. 

Snowy is in the hall outside of Tater’s room.

He’s one of those goalies. You know the ones. Six-foot-fuck-you, seven-foot-fuck-me on skates.

“Parson,” he says, voice dry, but then, Kent has never heard his voice do anything else. 

“Snowy,” Kent responds. 

“You know that this is fucked, right?” 

“Hey—”Bittle starts, but Kent shakes his head. 

“I’ll be in right away.” This makes Bittle’s eyebrows draw together into a comical little V, but he goes. “I know—” 

“Not what I was going to say, Parson,” Snowy holds up a hand. “He’s smiling in there. Fuckin’ just found out that his career is over, he’s fuckin’ smiling. So. Thanks for that. And if he stops smiling, I’ll, like, beat the shit out of you. Probably.” 

“Not as badly as I’ll beat the shit out of myself. Probably,”

“Come on, Parson, you can’t say that. Now it’s just sad.”

“I’m just—”

“I know, kid,” Snowy says, and then actually reaches out to ruffle Kent’s hair. 

Kent is stunned, one entire foot shorter than him, and doesn’t do anything to stop him.

For some reason, in this, the twilight zone episode and/or romantic comedy that his life has become, it feels kind of right. 

—

“Would either of you like to say a few words?” The officiator asks. She’s an obstetrics nurse named Kyla, who is also a _Rangers_ fan. Kent has forgiven her for that, because she agreed to conduct their ceremony during her lunch break. Kent looks at Alexei, presses his lips together, and nods. 

“Listen,” Kent starts. Then stops. 

“I’m listen,” Tater says. 

“No, wait.”

“I’m wait,” Tater says, with the exact same inflection as he had just used and a smirk starting that says he knows it’ll make Kent laugh. And it does. 

“You make me laugh,” Kent starts, and when he does, he finds that this time, he can't stop. 

“I mean, you make me wanna hold hands, and I usually hate that, because my hands get really clammy, which you know, because we hold hands. You hold my hands even though they get, like, disgustingly clammy.” Bittle doesn’t quite cover up a snort at this, but Kent doesn’t care. He's not really looking at Bittle. “I know that this wasn’t the plan, but, as long as you keep making me laugh, and keep holding my hand, I think we can figure the rest of it out.” 

Kent hears a sniffle. He looks up to see that it came from Snowy, who is trying a failing miserably to hide the fact that he is gently weeping. Bittle is smiling peacefully beside him. 

“Fuck you, dude, that was beautiful,” he says. 

“I’m go, now,” Alexei says, pulling Kent’s focus back. “I’m not having the right words for this in English, but also, maybe not having them in Russian either. I am… happy. Should not be,” he nods a little towards where he knee is carefully supported and braced to avoid movement. “I am happy anyways.” 

Alexei smiles and nods once, finished.

“Great,” Kyla the obstetrics nurse says. “I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the husband.” 

“Alright,” Kent says, breathy, low, like he’s telling it to himself. _It’s alright._

“Yes,” Alexei replies. “All good.” 

It’s not a remarkable kiss, except for all the reasons it is. Kent is leaning down, for one. 

And he’s married by the time it ends. 

And people are clapping in the background. 

Kent still hasn’t quite managed to look away from Alexei, well after the sparse applause has stopped. Bittle claps once more, sharply. 

“Who wants some wedding pie?” 

Alexei seems as excited for pie as he did about the prospect of getting married. Snowy swears loudly, but it seems like he means it in a good way. Kyla just seems excited to be getting something to eat before she has to return to work. 

“Thanks for that, Bittle,” Kent manages to mutter, when Snowy has Tater’s attention captured with a loud story rated PG-13 for language that seems to be about a fairly mundane excursion to a local Starbucks. 

“Nonsense, it was my pleasure,” he replies. After pressing his lips together, he adds. “You could call me Bitty, if you’d like.” 

“Cool,” Kent says. For some reason, he thinks that this might be the thing that finally brings him to tears today. 

“You still have to tell Jack,” Bitty says. “He’s gonna flip.” 

“Yup,” Kent says. 

“Can I be here when you do it?”

Jack does, in fact, flip. Mostly about the fact that his Captain, Goalie, Boyfriend, and whatever the fuck he thinks of Kent as at this point, have him on speakerphone to explain that two of them just had a shotgun wedding in a hospital room. 

What he seems most hung-up on was the fact that he wasn’t there to be a part of it. 

This does make Kent cry a little, after it’s just him and Alexei left, making room on the just-too-small hospital bed for both of them. Kent curls around Alexei’s good side like a bracket and Alexei rubs small circles into the space between his shoulder blades, and they fit. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever get this,” Kent says, half-asleep, and he means it in more way than one. Alexei hums, presses a kiss to his hair, and promptly passes out. 

Kent just wishes that he knew if he’d get to keep it. 

He’s too afraid to ask. 

—

Alexei decides that he’s moving to Las Vegas. 

Kent offers, but it’s Alexei who decides.

That’s what Kent keeps telling himself. 

Kent also offers to pick Alexei up from the airport, in a voice that isn’t quite joking. 

“That’s the kind of thing husbands do, right?”

“Yes, Kenny, you are very good husband,” Alexei says back in a voice that isn’t quite deadpan. 

So that’s how things have been going for about the last three weeks. Lots of FaceTime. Kent, playing games, Alexei, working to get the go ahead from the doctors to fly out (home, Kent reminds himself, and tries to ignore the giddy feeling below his sternum that was not butterflies, fuck you very much). 

Alexei is still on crutches, his knee swaddled in a pretty futuristic looking brace when he clears the airport gate. Kent had expected crutches. He hadn't quite expected how fucking fast Alexei would be on them, because before he knows it, he’s wrapped in a very familiar crushing hug that presses about as much of his body against Alexei’s as physically possible. They stay that way until one of Alexei’s crutches falls to the ground with a clatter. 

There is a small but intense scuffle for Alexei’s suitcase. 

“Is almost as big as you Kenny,” Tater pouts, having lost. 

“I’m a normal size,” Kent says. “Also, I’m a professional athlete, I can lift your fucking bag.” 

“Hear so much about young Aces Captain, very talented, funny,” Alexei huffs. “I am not hearing he is so gracious.” 

“I’ll show you gracious.” 

And he does. 

He holds open each and every door possible, carries the bag all the way to his car, stows it safely in the trunk, and then, the second the drivers side door slams shut behind him, he is on Alexei, finding the line between careful and aggressive as quickly as he can. Graciously.

They make out in the airport parkade for probably too long, until Kent leans on the horn of his BMW by mistake, which startles them apart. It settles Kent a little bit, too, for some reason. Maybe because, despite the fact that they are now married, and despite the fact that Kent is pretty sure he knows the name for the desperate feeling in his gut every time he thinks about the fact that he is only married because Alexei had no better option, Kent hasn't actually managed to fuck this up. 

This was a good thing. 

Maybe it still is.

He’s listening to Alexei sing along, out of key and accent prevalent, to Katy Perry under his breath in the passenger seat, and Kent can’t help but think that yeah, it must be. 

“I would carry, but.” Alexei says when they finally reach the front door of Kent’s apartment. He shrugs with one shoulder as he says it, careful not to take weight off his crutches. 

“I could try and carry you, but we might die.” 

“Not die— fall, yes. But not die.” Alexei and Kent stand shoulder to shoulder at the door, neither one stepping forward. 

Kent tangles his fingers around Alexei’s, taking the crutch closer to him and tucking it up under his free arm. He takes a little bit of Alexei’s weight, too.

“So, we take a step together, on three.” 

Alexei smiles at him. This might be Kent’s favourite of all of Alexei’s smiles, even the lopsided smirk or the comically large grin. It’s a bit small and full of something Kent doesn’t know the word for. It might be the same thing that Kent is ignoring, the riot in his chest (that is not the butterflies). 

“Okay,” Alexei says. “On three.” 

—

They have sex sooner than they probably should, considering that even after several weeks of recovery, Alexei’s knee is still one accidental nudge away from collapsing into nonuse again.

Alexei’s knee can’t hold his own weight quite yet, so adding Kent’s weight to the equation is tricky. They work around it. 

Kent had no idea that his kitchen counter was the perfect height. But it is. 

Kent more importantly has realized that in his (their) bed, going slow (gently) might be his favourite. It's after one of these nights that it happens. 

Alexei leans over him, putting almost all of his weight on his arms so that none of it falls on his bad leg. It’s not a view that Kent is unused to, or one that he thinks he will stop appreciating any time soon.

He’s a little in his own head about that, which is probably it isn’t until Alexei is holding something directly in front of his face that he snaps out of it. 

“What?” He asks, going a bit cross-eyed to focus on—

A ring. 

“We are married, should have rings?” Alexei shifts beside him, half-sitting up, half-laying down. “I am picking these without help, but I’m having good taste, yes?” 

Yeah, actually. For all that Kent has teased about Tater’s thin gold chains and distinctive cologne, the ring is… very nice. 

It must be platinum, or something like it, silver in colour but polished almost to the point of looking blue in the low light. It’s thin and smooth and perfect. 

“Yeah,” Kent swallows thickly, trying to make his voice sound a little less rusted. 

“Here,” Alexei says, taking Kent’s left hand in his and sliding on the ring. It fits, and given everything that Kent knows about Alexei’s somewhat startling attention to detail (and his romantic streak, that was less of a streak and more of a gaping chasm and would demand that he get this moment right) he should be less surprised. 

Still, Kent feels a bit frozen. 

“Unless you are not wanting rings? I’m sorry, I should have ask—”

“It’s perfect,” Kent interrupts him. It’s a relief and a nightmare at the same time to know that he doesn’t have a monopoly on insecurity in this relationship. “Where’s yours?” 

Alexei presses his ring into the palm of Kent’s hand. 

“Alright,” Kent says, and he has to twist a little to get at Alexei’s left hand, and it presses more of them together, and they stay that way, even when the ring is settled. 

“Yes,” Alexei replies. “All good.” 

Kent drapes his hand across Alexei’s chest and looks at it resting there, the metal of the ring still cool against his skin. 

“Why these ones, ‘Lexi?” 

“I’m seeing them in shop window, cannot decide if they are being blue or silver,” Alexei says, eyes closed and the left side of his mouth quirked into a grin. Kent blinks over at him. Alexei opens one eye. “They are reminding me of your eyes. Never the colour I am expecting.” 

Kent smiles, the kind of quiet, lopsided smile that highlights a chipped incisor, and leaves a kiss on Alexei’s shoulder that means _thank you_ , and _I love you_ , and _stay with me_ , and a million other things Kent hasn’t quite found the courage to say. 

They fall asleep, and Kent does not dream. 

—

Alexei is hard on himself in physio. The physiotherapists love it. Kent does not. 

Kent finally breaks and asks Alexei, who is face up on the floor and visibly struggling to keep some pain out of his expression, why?

“May not play in NHL again,” Alexei grunts. “Will play again.” 

“I believe you,” Kent whispers, a little reverently, and he means it. 

In the last couple months, Kent and Alexei have formed habits. 

Kent wakes up before Alexei, usually, and feeds Kit. Alexei wakes up and feeds Kit as well. Kent has told him not to, but Alexei insists that Kit looks too hungry to refuse, or that he forgets, or that he didn’t. Kit has gained a little weight since Alexei moved in. 

Alexei will cook sometimes, and Kent will do the dishes. Kent likes to whistle when he does the dishes, which devolves quickly into him singing while he does the dishes, which results in Alexei joining in, loudly, and usually off key. If Alexei does not know the words, he will make them up. Sometimes in Russian. 

Kent twists his wedding ring around his finger when he’s wearing it there and fiddles with it on the chain around his neck when he’s wearing it there. (The guys on his team have absolutely noticed. They noticed when he scratched the game almost three months ago, they noticed when he came back looking like shit, they notice that he goes out even less than he used to. But the other day Swoops told him to “stop fucking smiling so much, man, you’re freaking people out”, and no one has pushed. Kent’s taking that for what it’s worth.)

Alexei pushes himself in physio and Kent pushes himself in practice. 

They get better. 

“I am thinking is time to make coming out statement,” Alexei says one day while they are waiting for coffee to brew (this is another thing they do, they stand opposite of the coffee maker and watch it brew, occasionally bumping elbows, Kent usually in a t-shirt that hangs loose and Alexei usually in no shirt at all, Kit winding through their ankles). 

“It’s too early for this,” Kent blinks. 

“Is not too early, have been married three months,” Alexei says. 

“I mean in the morning,” Kent replies. 

“Oh.” 

They keep waiting for the coffee to brew. Bumping elbows. 

When they sit down at the kitchen table, each taking one side of the corner that faces the backyard, like they usually do, Alexei tangles his fingers with Kent's in between their mugs. It makes Kent think of the hospital, but Alexei’s ring reminds him that it’s been a while since then. A lot has changed. 

The thing is, Kent’s thought about coming out before, more times than he could probably count. 

He knows it will be easier on him than it would be on Jack, to be first. Jack has already had to make a come back, and as much as Kent wishes it weren’t the case, the first guy out is going to have to rally. You Can Play has changed things, and so has time, and Kent can’t think of a guy on his team (or Jack’s for that matter) that would make a big deal out of it. 

But there are players who would. 

And the conversation, every conversation about his skill and his team and any comparisons would forever involve the consideration, the tagline, _well, he was the first player to come out as gay in the NHL._

But he’s Kent Fucking Parson, so ESPN can suck on that. 

There’s no way to mention him without talking about his two Stanley Cups, or the fact that he turned a dying ice hockey franchise in the middle of the desert into something worth caring about, or his winning All-Star Game Breakaway Challenge from last year. 

“I don’t want to derail our season,” Kent says. “It wouldn’t be fair to the guys, when it’s something that I can control, to shift the attention like that.” 

“Is okay,” Alexei says. “I am having plan.” 

“You what?”

“Plan,” Alexei says, proudly. “I’m coming out whenever, does not matter so much anymore. Softens things, for when you want to come out, and we are not needing to come out together, as married.” 

Kent wonders if Alexei can hear the delusion that Kent had tricked himself into believing shatter and crumble around them. 

_But, the rings, and, doing the dishes— It was a green card marriage, you fucking— What about the fact that he’d moved in— Don’t kid yourself, Parson—_

“I am thinking I’m phoning Falconers PR today, talking to Georgia? Making sure everything is okay?” Kent nods, and Alexei frowns. “Kenny, is everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” Kent lies, sounding almost exactly like he usually does, except for all the ways he doesn’t. 

When Alexei posts on Instagram two days later, a short but heartfelt screenshot of a note on his phone, explaining that he was crushed to no longer be playing in the NHL, but glad to have a chance to let the world know about this part of himself, something he’d always felt obligated to not necessarily hide, but protect because of his career. 

After he finishes crying in the parking lot of a 7/11 on his drive home about the fact that he loves Alexei more than Alexei loves him, and probably always would, Kent likes the post.

—

Alexei ask if he can pick him up from a roadie the next week. 

So, Kent catches a ride there with Troy for the first time in months, offering a shrug in response. 

Alexei shows up with two monstrous frappucinos. 

They are both absolutely decked out with syrups and drizzles and maybe even sprinkles? Kent has no idea. 

“What are these?” Kent says, sounding properly offended by their presence in his cupholders. 

“Frappucinos,” Alexei says, like Kent doesn’t know what a frappucino is. Then again, his accent changes the word considerably, this could be an entirely new thing. 

“Why, though.” 

“I’m asking Starbucks man to give me best drinks for me and husband,” Alexei says. Kent doesn’t flinch. Score. “He makes these.” 

“Dude,” Kent says, snorting. “He gave you gay drinks.” 

“What?” 

“These are gay drinks, dude.” 

“Drink not make me gay,” Alexei frowns. “I’m gay because I’m liking sex with men.”

Kent laughs, and laughs, and laughs, until his stomach hurts and Alexei is laughing, too. He forgets to be hurt, for a moment, about the not wanting to come out together thing. He forgets to think about the fact that Alexei could totally divorce him after a year, because that is what they agreed to, after all. He forgets that Alexei might not love him back. 

When Kent actually tries the frappucino, he hums in surprise. It’s less sweet than it looks, and very refreshing after a hard practice. The heat in Vegas doesn’t make downing a hot coffee any easier and— Kent was going to have to fucking order himself frappucinos now, wasn’t he. 

“Say frappucino with your accent again,” Kent asks, staring a little bit at Alexei while he drives. 

“You say again. You are also having accent, Kent,” Alexei replies. 

Kent laughs. Again. 

When Alexei gets out of the car, it takes Kent a long moment to place what’s different. 

He’s not using crutches. 

“‘Lexi?” 

“Surprise?” Alexei says, flourishing like a cheesy magician. 

“Yes,” Kent walks around the front of the car, and then, in the underground parking lot of their apartment building, where anyone and everyone could see them, Kent gets a hand around the back of Alexei’s neck and hauls him down into the kind of take-no-prisoners kiss that can only be given by skilled actors and people who are truly, intensely happy. Kent knows which one he is, at least. 

Alexei drops his frappucino in favour of getting the hand that he doesn’t have cradling Kent’s face on his ass. 

They pull apart with a messy sound that sounds messier because of the low ceilings in the empty parkade. Kent loves it. 

“You are happy?” Alexei asks, as if he had learned to walk without support for this reason alone. 

“Yeah,” Kent says. “I’m happy.” 

—

Kent doesn’t plan to come out during a random, pre-game interview on a Tuesday. 

They’re going up against the Falconers, though, which fits. 

“How do you think the loss of their Captain earlier this season has impacted the Falconers game?”

“It’s a huge loss for the team, and they’ve had to play around it. But Zimmermann is a great player and a good Captain. They aren’t a weak team because of it.” 

“Do you think that Mashkov’s decision to come out as gay after his career-ending injury has affected their season?” The guy who asks is a pretty mild-mannered dude, who Kent has never had a problem with before (because of course he is, maybe that’s why it feels like Kent has had ice water poured down his bare back). 

“What?”

“After his injury, Mashkov came out publicly as homosexual. How do you think this has affected his team, who had to deal with that on top of his inability to continue as their Captain this season?” 

“Well, being gay has never really affected the way that I play hockey, so I doubt that Alexei Mashkov or his team are really struggling with it either," Kent says, voice somehow dull and sharp at the same time. 

Silence. A journalist to his far left is grinning softly. Kent smiles back at her, and hopes it looks like a smile, and not just like he’s baring his teeth, which is kind of how it feels. A PR person ends his interview from outside the half-circle of journalists around him, half of which have probably already tweeted. 

Kent doesn’t know what to do. He dekes the PR guy who is coming towards him in a walk that’s closer to a sprint than anything else. He finds the worst-lit, most empty back corner of the rink. He hides for a minute, pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a hissing sigh. 

He needs to call his mom, and his sister, and his agent—

He phones Jack. Then he realizes that Jack is probably getting ready for the game tonight. 

So he phones Bitty. 

“Hello, Mr. Parson-Mashkov,” he answers. 

“Hey, Bitty,” and silence. “What’s up?” 

“Get to business, Kent, I know you didn’t call me three hours before a game to have a nice chat.” 

“I just came out on camera,” Kent says. “And I think I'm going to tell Alexei that I’m in love with him.” 

Silence. 

“What the fuck,” Bitty says, with feeling. 

“Um,” 

“Do you mean to tell me that you have never told your husband, who you love, that you love him?” Bitty asks in a way that doesn’t make it sound like a question at all. 

“I thought you’d be more concerned about the reporters thing,” Kent mumbles. 

“Kent, you’re one of the best hockey players alive,” Bitty says, sounding sour. “I’m not saying that this was the best way to go about it but I highly doubt this will ruin your career.” 

“Who knows, it might not even get out.”

“No, honey, it’s out,” Bitty hums a little. “It looks like two or three journalists in the room tweeted about it right away, it’s on Deadspin.” 

“It’s been like, fifteen minutes,” Kent says. 

“Big news travels fast,” Bitty replies. “You need to phone Alexei, like, fifteen minutes ago.”

“I know, I just,” Kent stalls. 

“I’m not sure what’s got you all worked up here. It’s plain as day how much that man loved you, Kent, he married you after all.” 

“Because he needed citizenship,” Kent jumps in. 

“Is that what he told you? Or is that what you let yourself think about it?” 

Silence.

“Mostly the second thing, I guess,” Kent mumbles. 

“Then you should probably ask him.”

“Yeah,” 

“You’re welcome, Kent,” Bitty says, exaggerating his drawl. 

“Thank you Bitty,” Kent replies, equally put upon. Then, “seriously, though. Thank you.” 

“Anytime,” Bitty says. 

They hangup, and Kent holds his phone in one hand like he’s trying to make a fist around it. 

The text from Bitty comes up on his screen just as he thinks about not calling Alexei, and staying at the back of the arena until he inevitably dies of starvation. 

The text reads; _Go get him, tiger._

A second text; _Shouldn’t be too hard, he is your husband after all._

So he calls Alexei. 

“Hello,” Alexei answers the call on the third ring. 

“I love you,” Kent blurts out. 

“Yes,” Alexei says. “I love you also.” 

“Did you realize that we haven’t said that yet? That’s insane,” Kent laughs, sounding a little hysterical. 

“I am saying it,” Tater says blandly, and then mumbles something in Russian that sounds very familiar. “And you are not saying it but you are meaning it, Kenny.” 

“I love you so much,” Kent says, and he means it. 

“I know,” Alexei replies. “You love me so much you are telling room full of reporters.” 

“Um,” Kent says. “Not really? Just, I just told them about me.” 

“But you are telling them because of me, yes?” Kent scrubs his face with his knuckles, knocks his hat off, and runs his fingers though his hair. 

“Yeah,” Kent says. “I have to play a fuckin’ game tonight, and there are only like three guys on team that know, and PR is going to be so pissed, and it’s against the fucking Falcs—”

“Would it be good if I come to game tonight?”

“‘Lexi…”

“I am not minding to come. I am… missing game nights. Can see Falconers, before game,” Alexei says, so much quieter than he usually is. “Can see you before game also?” 

“I would— um, really appreciate that, actually.” 

“Then I am seeing you soon, Kent,” Alexei says. “I love you.” 

“Yeah,” Kent says. “I love you too.” 

When he hangs up, he drops his phone into his pocket, sinks to the floor, and rubs both of his fists against his closed eyes, breathing deeply. He’s not crying. He will not cry. 

Someone clears their throat above him. 

It’s the head of the Aces Internal Communications. 

“Hey, Parson,” she says. 

“Hey, Melissa,” he replies. 

She tells him that the fact that the organization (meaning her and her alone, thank God he had the foresight to tell her) has his back. 

“Don’t tell anyone I said this,” she says, squatting in front of him, almost in spite of her pencil skirt. “But you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to this team. Don’t take that lightly, because we certainly don’t.”

He enters back into the locker room, after having a pack of halloween smarties pressed into his palm by a cleaning lady that he chatted with sometimes on his way out of the arena after long practices. 

His team stands, silent. And then they applaud. 

Swoops gets his hands on Kent's shoulders and hisses into his ear, 

“You should’ve known we’d have your back. We always have your back.” 

When the clapping dies down, and the rookies stare up at him and the team levels him with their same even expressions, their game faces, Kent feels as though he might have to say something. 

“Speech!” Swoops cries unhelpfully from the corner. 

“Um,” Kent starts. “First, thank you. Having the team behind me in a moment like this means the world to me. Second, I’m sorry. It’s not fair to take the focus off what we've been doing for the last few months, not this late in the season, not when you've all been working so hard, not ever. Third,” Kent pauses, taking time to sweep his eyes across everyone else’s in the room. “Let’s fucking win this thing.” 

The applause this time around is just as loud as the first. 

—

When he skates out, last as always, he is met with deafening applause. 

Kent does not cry. 

He warms up. 

Until he sees Alexei, ringside behind the home team's net. 

The text that Alexei sent him early had read, along with a seat and section number; _bought single ticket from website, hope is not fake._

After Kent feels like there is nothing more he can do for his hamstrings, nothing more he can do to make his shoulders feel less tight and the pinching headache in his temples disappear, he skates over. 

Alexei behind the glass is as wonderful as it is terrible. This is where they met, after all; a late season game between the Falconers and the Aces, in Vegas, a game Kent needed to win. Only last time, Alexei had been on the other side of the plexiglass. 

Kent presses his left fist against the glass. He’s wearing his glove, and his ring has already been relocated to the chain around his neck, but he’s meeting Alexei’s eyes. 

Alexei lifts his left hand and lines it up with Kent’s own. 

The Aces win, 3-2, slipping one in at the end of the third period. It’s a good, clean game. Kent takes one hit, technically perfect in execution and a little softer than he is used to. 

Melissa, the head of Internal Communications, says that he can skip PR for the evening. 

“A picture is worth a thousand words,” is what she actually says, holding up her cellphone. The photo on the screen is beautifully framed, involving the glass in a skillful manner. It separates him and Alexei, but the place where their knuckles would meet without it there— that’s everything.

—

It’s the same night that Kent asks a question he should’ve asked a long time ago. 

“Do you wanna Skype my mom with me?” Alexei looks like he’s taking a long time to think about it, melodramatic. _He’s perfect_ , Kent’s brain supplies dangerously. Or, maybe not dangerously, after today. 

“Yes, I think I can manage,” Alexei says. Kent pecks him on the neck as a thank you. 

His mother answers on the first ring. 

“Hey Baby,” she says, brows furrowed, chin resting on her hand, and about four pounds of bracelets visible. She’d probably been waiting by the computer. Shit. 

“Hi, Mom,” Kent says, left hand on the back of his neck. “I have something I need to tell you about—”

“Kent, I’m old, but I know how to use the internet, I’ve already seen. You are so brave,” she sounds teary, but the Skype video is too low quality to tell. “You are so good, and after that reporter asked that terrible question about that man, I looked him up, Kent, and he’s so brave too! Isn’t it sad that he got injured? Do you know him? Do you know if he’ll have to go back to Russia, that would be terrible—”

“Mom, um,” Kent waves to Alexei, who is waiting off camera in a rolling chair with his hands folded in his lap, looking worried. He doesn’t slide over. Kent lets out an exasperated sigh. “He’s going to be fine.” 

“Oh, I’m so glad. But, Kent,” she leans forward seriously, lacing her fingers on the desk in front of her. Kent mimics the gesture without thinking, until Alexei snorts. “Are you going to be fine?” 

“Yeah, um, I’m going to be great, I’m,” Kent waves more vigorously, “not alone in this.” 

“Kent—” His mom starts, and Alexei slides into frame with a little too much force, beaming. 

“Hello Mrs Parson!” 

“Oh!” Kent’s mom says, trying haphazardly to run her fingers through her unruly blonde hair. 

“Mom, this is Alexei, you may remember him from your google search today,” Kent says, genuinely wringing his hands. Alexei reaches over and takes both Kent’s hands in one of his own, stilling him. Kent looks over at him, and Alexei nods, once, smiling, giving Kent’s hands a squeeze. “We’re married.”

They are met with silence. 

Then—

“Kent _Vincent_ Parson—” Alexei snorts and Kent blushes fiercely. “When did you get _married?”_

“Um,” Kent hesitates. “Like, four months ago?” 

“Three months and three weeks,” Alexei supplies, nodding sagely. 

“We’ve been together for like, nine months though.” 

“Kent,” his mother is covering her mouth with her hands. “What?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you? What you said before, about Russia—”

“Mrs. Parson—”

“Kathy,” Kent’s mother corrects.

“Kathy,” Alexei repeats. “When I am getting injured at beginning of season, Kent flies out to see me in hospital, and we are already together for few months. With no NHL, they are going to send me back to Russia, just like you fear. When Kent asks me to marry him I say yes, not because I am afraid of going back, but that I am afraid of losing something important. I am loving Kent, very much.” 

Kent’s mother still has her hands covering her mouth. 

Then she starts to cry. 

Perhaps, like their unruly blonde hair, Kent inherited this habit directly from her.

Kent clenches his jaw and squeezes Alexei’s hand, looking at the ground. 

“Sorry!” She says. “I’m just so happy.” 

Kent blinks. 

“Yes!” Alexei says. “We are happy also.” 

Kathy Parson lets out a noise that might be a sob. 

“Kent, why didn't you tell me?” Any quality of video could show that she had tears streaming down her face now. 

“I was scared,” Kent says. “I’m not scared anymore.” 

—

It happens at the grocery store. 

The season is over. The Aces are knocked out the second round of the playoffs. 

It’s more shit luck than anything else, a few injuries and a bad match-up putting them out on their ass, 4-2 in the series. They fought hard for it. Kent played well— better than well. ESPN managed to keep his sexuality out of the conversation as much as best they could, save a few disparaging journalists, and a conversation about tact and timing that Kent couldn't fault them for.

But now, he's at the grocery store, late on a Wednesday, just before they are supposed to be closing, because Kent forgot to pick up milk on his way home yesterday, and Alexei offered to tag along. 

And Kent doesn’t mean to bring it up, because everything has been going so well, but he does. 

“Do you even remember when I proposed?” he asks, inspecting some cereal brands. “You were pretty out of it.” 

“Of course I am remembering,” Alexei says with a scoff. “You say, _don’t leave me, I love you_ , and I say, of course, and thank you, and yes.” 

“That is not what I said,” Kent says. 

“Is what you meant,” Alexei replies immediately. 

“That’s not what happened,” Kent mumbles, still staring at the nutritional value of the Cocoa Puffs in his hands. 

“Here, give me ring,” Alexei says, and Kent holds out his left hand absently. After a few seconds, Kent hears Alexei clear his throat pointedly from beside him. 

When he looks, Alexei has taken a knee, and is holding the ring up to him. 

“Kent Vincent Parson,” Alexei says. “You are making me laugh. You are making me want to hold hands, even though yours are sweaty and cold. You are a dream that I had, once, a long time ago, and you are here. I am loving you very much. We will figure the rest out. Will you marry me?” 

“You stole my vows,” Kent mumbles, staring down in awe. The fluorescent light of the Target doesn't make it any less surreal.

“I am not stealing,” Alexei says. “Remembering.” 

“We’re already married,” Kent says, instead of _yes_. 

“Yes, and you are wanting Cocoa Puffs, so put them in cart already so we can go home.” 

Soon, they will have to figure out telling the whole world about this. 

But for now, Alexei slides Kent’s ring back onto his finger, and Kent smiles, and Alexei smiles back, and it didn’t take much more than that for Kent to fall in love in the first place. 

They go home. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> catch these hands @ plastichouseplants on tumblr. i hope you enjoyed the read!


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